Dale picked up the clipboard and propped one foot on the spoke of a wagon wheel. He made some notes on the side of one of the work orders while he waited to see what Tate and his cronies would do. When the trio stayed in place, Dale called out to one of the other men who worked closest to the office.
“Ned, go upstairs and see if you can find that Now HIRING sign on top of the file cabinet.”
After some grumbling under their breaths, Tate and his buddies stomped off in the direction of the log rack. It wasn’t the end of the matter, and Dale knew it.
Saturday being a short workday, Dale double-checked the work orders to make certain the most urgent ones would be completed and delivered on time. He went to help Zack and Ned with a load of siding boards. They finished the cutting and stacking in record time.
Dale dragged his sleeve across his forehead. “You fellows go ahead and start on that order of fence posts while I check on the other men.” He skirted around the side of the building and came to the back of the pole barn. An ongoing exchange greeted him before he stepped into view of the three men.
“…oughta be an example to everyone in the county. It’s a clear message.”
Dale didn’t feel like wasting time asking Tate what he meant. He rounded the corner. “How are you men coming? Need any help?”
Tate scoffed. “From you?” The other two men snickered.
Dale consulted the work order and checked their progress. “You only have another hour before the noon whistle sounds. You better get busy if you plan on leaving on time.”
He turned on his heel and hitch-stepped back to help Zack and Ned with the fence posts.
The sawdust flew for the next hour, and by the time the shrill whistle blasted signifying quitting time, all the work was completed, checked off, and stacked. Dale handed out the pay envelopes, locked the office door, and made his way toward the general store where Clyde Sawyer was certain to have a number of orders to be delivered. When Dale told Clyde about his promotion, the merchant had rubbed his chin in consternation. But Dale didn’t plan on quitting his second job at the store, much to Clyde’s expressed relief. The more money he could sock away in the bank, the sooner he could become a landowner again.
He crossed the street in front of the post office. The town always bustled on Saturdays. Farm folk came to do their shopping and trading, along with socializing and gossiping. As Dale drew closer to the mercantile, animated conversations buzzed every few feet along the boardwalk. He couldn’t catch enough to make sense of anything, but wide-eyed uneasiness on the faces around him and the foreboding tone in many voices set Dale’s senses on alert. He didn’t have the time or inclination to stop and chat, however, and he hastened to the back door of the mercantile.
Brisk business kept both Clyde and Betsy Sawyer busy waiting on customers out front. Since there were always extra deliveries on Saturday, Dale used Clyde’s buckboard to speed up the process. Dale found the orders to be delivered hanging from a nail where Clyde always stuck them, and began loading the items into crates.
He went to the door that separated the storeroom from the front. “Clyde, I’m taking six of these orders out. I should be back in an hour.”
Clyde waved, and Dale hoisted the last loaded crate. As he shoved it onto the back of the buckboard, he couldn’t help overhearing three men on the boardwalk.
“Lynched, I tell you. Right there by the side of the road where everyone can see.”
“You don’t say.”
“I hear tell they stuck a cross in the ground right beside the tree they hung him from, and don’t ya know, they set fire to that there cross.”
Another man shook his head. “Ain’t been any lynchin’s around these parts since back in ‘64.”
“Ain’t the same. This one was a darkie.”
The blood coursing through Dale’s veins froze. He limped over to the men.
“What’s this about a lynching?”
One of the men thumbed his suspender. “Yup, hanged him there from a big oak tree for everybody to see. Burned a cross beside him, too.”
Was this what Tate and the others were talking about? “Where was this?”
“Over by the Athens road.” The old timer scratched his head. “Not far from the river.”
Dread oozed through Dale’s being. His sister and her husband lived out that way. Pastor Shuford urged him numerous times to bury the hatchet, reminding him that Auralie was all the family he had left. If there was anything of which he needed no reminding, it was that his family was gone.
Auralie and Colton had a black man, Barnabas, who worked for them. Dale had never told them so, but he was secretly glad Barnabas stayed on the place protecting his sister and her baby while her husband was off fighting. When the war ended, the conflict between him and Auralie seemed too wide to bridge. The reasons seemed ridiculously petty now.
Every direction Dale turned Sunday morning, talk of the lynching raged like wildfire. It hardly seemed appropriate conversation between worshippers entering the house of God, but the event had sent a shock wave through the town, and everyone had an opinion. Speculation and accusations galloped faster than a runaway horse heading for the barn. Every snippet of conversation that reached Dale’s ear sent a blade of regret slicing deeper into his conscience.
All afternoon the day before, Dale made his deliveries for Clyde Sawyer and repeatedly ran into people adding more gruesome details to an already horrendous story. The lynching remained on the lips of every person in town this morning. Dale carried enough grisly memories of the war with him. He didn’t need or want to paint a picture in his head of the unholy activities that took place out on the Athens road two nights ago.
Dale hung back from the groups of people gathering in the churchyard. He saw Charity walking toward the church with Hannah and the Ferguson ladies, but the unsettled state of his emotions this morning left him in no mood to talk to anyone. If Charity asked him what he thought about it, he had no answer. He couldn’t put into words the turmoil that churned through him, and he had no desire to participate in any of the conversations circulating through the crowd. Instead, he stepped back into the shadows and kept watching down the road as wagons and carriages arrived for the Sunday morning services. When the church bell rang, everyone made their way inside. Everyone except Dale.
The opening hymn drifted through the closed doors, but Dale lingered outside, hoping to greet Auralie and Colton when they arrived. He’d tossed and turned the entire night. If only he’d put his animosity aside when Pastor Shuford encouraged him to do so. He kicked a clod of dirt, watching it burst apart and scatter. He’d wasted so much time fostering his rancor and at the same time feeding his self-pity, privately envying those people who had family. He’d told himself he was alone, no family left, but that wasn’t true. Indignant anger took control of him when Auralie announced her marriage to Colton. Shame filled him when he remembered telling her she was no longer his sister.
The memory poured hot coals of remorse over him. Pastor Shuford was right. Refusing to reconcile with Auralie had robbed both of them of the joys of family.
The congregation finished the first hymn and began singing a second, and Auralie and Colton had still not appeared. They rarely missed church, even with their two little ones. Auralie and Colton had repeatedly told him they’d been praying for him and hoped he’d choose to be part of their family, but he’d refused. He raked his hands through his hair. He didn’t have family because he’d turned his back on them. What a fool he’d been. He’d been a fool about a lot of things. He looked up the road again, but no wagon appeared around the bend.
With his head in his hands, Dale wondered for the thousandth time why the black soldier bothered to save his life. Dale had seen the scars on the man’s back when he took his shirt off and used it to bind Dale’s wounds. How could a man who’d been beaten and forced into slavery by white men, sent to fight in a war that could have resulted in continued slavery if the South had won, show such compassion for
a white man?
“God, why did he do that? How could he do that?”
There was only one way—the way Pastor Shuford had been telling him for six years. The only way he would ever reconcile with Auralie, or understand what motivated that soldier to do what he did, or break free of the invisible shackles that bound him was by letting God have control. He pressed his lips tightly together. Could he find the courage to take such a step?
He blew out a stiff breath and looked for Auralie and Colton’s wagon one more time. Clearly, they weren’t coming to church this morning, and Dale feared the reason. He rose and walked as fast as his limp would allow down the street to the livery to borrow a horse. He had to ride out there. He had to know. He had to tell Auralie how sorry he was and ask her and Colton to forgive him.
As he walked, he lifted his voice to heaven. “God, I pray that Barnabas is all right, but somebody somewhere is grieving for the man who was lynched. I’ve been so stiff-necked and hard-hearted, Lord. Please forgive me.”
When he reached the stable, the hostler told him to pick out a mount and saddle it himself. Dale pulled a gelding from his stall and tossed a saddle on his back. The horse snorted in protest at being taken away from his feed bin. Dale patted his neck.
“Sorry, fella, but this is one mission I don’t intend to fail.”
Charity peeked from the corner of her eye during the singing to see if Dale had come in. She’d seen him in church the first three Sundays that she’d been in Juniper Springs. A prick of concern poked her, but she immediately dismissed it. There were a dozen possible reasons he wasn’t there. But of all Sundays for him to miss, why this one?
After hearing the dreadful news about the black man they’d found hanging beside a burned cross, Charity wanted—no, she needed—to talk to Dale more than ever. She simply couldn’t comprehend such a vile act. Could he?
In the light of the lynching, Dale’s warnings to be careful rang in her head. At the time, she couldn’t imagine anyone taking out their resentment of her as a Yankee in any way other than a frown and a snub. Now she wasn’t so sure. But she couldn’t quit, not now.
She still had her articles to write, and what she’d learned since coming here shed a whole new light on the slant of her stories. Her editor expected the first article on his desk before the end of October, and she’d not disappoint him.
But her dogged determination sent agitation swirling through her stomach. She was no closer to finding Wylie or learning what became of her father than she was when she first arrived. Every person with whom she’d spoken, every place she looked, she kept running into dead ends. The tenacity that drove her made the nerve endings in her scalp tingle. She would not give up.
The preacher’s voice rose and fell with emotion as he grasped the sides of the pulpit and leaned forward. “The news of this lynching is on everyone’s lips, but I wonder how many of those talking about it view it as a tragedy—just as tragic as the war. For four and a half years the destruction and the death toll made us gasp. It was more than we could comprehend.”
He pounded his fist on the pulpit. “Well, I say that the lynching of this man is every bit as wicked and depraved as any of the atrocities of war, maybe even more so.”
Charity blinked and held her breath. Since yesterday, she’d tried not to think about the unspeakable possibility of the murdered man being Wylie. Another wave of nausea crashed over her, and she bit her lip.
The pastor moved to the side of the pulpit and stepped down from the platform, walked down the aisle, beseeching the people to listen. “Don’t you see? In a war, we’re told there is an enemy who means us harm, and the soldiers go out and put their lives in danger to protect their homeland from that enemy.”
He backed up slowly, turning from side to side and looking into the faces of those seated on the wooden benches. “That man who was hung wasn’t an enemy. He didn’t mean anyone any harm. The soldiers weren’t called up to go out and hunt him down. The men who committed this ungodly act didn’t put their own lives in danger. In fact, they hid behind hooded masks like cowards!” With every declaration, the volume and intensity of the preacher’s voice increased until he was shouting.
A trembling began in the pit of Charity’s stomach. The preacher was declaring the same sentiments she felt. Tears pricked her eyes.
“God’s Word instructs us to put away malice, and he who sheds innocent blood will himself be condemned.”
Charity poised on the edge of the bench, every muscle tensed in anticipation.
The pastor stood facing the silent congregation with his arms stretched out to his side like a loving parent encouraging his children to come. “Hasn’t there been enough death? The animosity must cease.” His voice broke as he began to weep. “Search your hearts. Put away the hatred. Let go of the bitterness and its poison.”
His voice fell to almost a whisper, and Charity had to strain to hear him.
“And what do you put in the place of that hatred?” He turned his palms up and held his arms out. “Forgiveness, my friends. Yes, I can see in the eyes of many here this morning that you think I’m asking too much of you. But I’m not the one doing the asking.” He held up his Bible. “God is.”
Charity squirmed in her seat. How could she forgive the people who took her father from her?
With tears streaming down his face, Pastor Shuford’s next words arrested her heart.
“Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’”
Brokenness rendered her weak with guilt and regret.
Precious Lord Jesus, help me forgive.
Chapter 11
Humbling himself never came easy for Dale, and finding the words to express a heartfelt apology tested his resolve, but God birthed a seed of fortitude within him and smoothed the way. The expression on Auralie’s face when she opened the door to his knock would linger with Dale for as long as he drew breath. Relying on God’s strength to carry out his purpose, Dale tasted the sweetness of His promise when he embraced his sister and shook his brother-in-law’s hand.
Learning that their reason for missing church had nothing to do with Barnabas rendered Dale weak with relief. Both of the children were down with the croup. A slight moan shuddered through him at the sound of their coughing, but the little ones would be fine in a few days.
His private meeting with Barnabas had started out awkwardly, but he managed to tell the man how much it meant to him, knowing his sister wasn’t alone during those awful months. Expressing his thanks to the former slave felt odd, to be sure, but his heart smiled when Barnabas got over the shock and finally responded with upturned lips and a slight nod of his head.
Despite the shortness of the visit, Dale savored the reconciliation with his sister. Auralie had urged him to stay for dinner, but he’d begged off, promising to return another day. Dale reined the gelding around and raised his hand in farewell. Auralie stood beside her husband on the front porch, waving and wiping tears away.
He nudged the horse into a canter down the road. The sun climbed above the treetops, chasing the morning chill into hiding as Dale headed back to town. Gratefulness hung around his shoulders like a cloak with the assurance of the restored family connection, but a dark cloud followed him. The lynching drew a sinister curtain around the community, and Dale’s concern for Charity grew. Even though he’d already warned Tate and his friends to leave her alone, in light of the news on everyone’s lips, he couldn’t be sure of her safety. Perhaps it was time for another talk with her.
When he passed the sign that proclaimed WELCOME TO JUNIPER SPRINGS, he left the horse at the livery, paid his twenty-five cents for the loan of the animal, and turned his feet in the direction of the boardinghouse. He let himself in through the white picket gate in the front, but before he reached the porch steps, he spied Charity in the side yard, sitting on a small garden bench amid a swirl of autumn leaves.
He rounded the corner of the house, and she looked up. The scowl around her eyes immediat
ely softened, and she rose to greet him.
“I looked for you in church this morning.”
“There was something I had to do.” Dale gestured toward the back porch. “Can we sit back here where we can talk?”
They climbed the three steps to the back porch, and Dale noticed the wicker chairs that had mysteriously disappeared last Sunday were back in place. He smothered a tiny chuckle. Hannah Sparrow had a mischievous streak.
The chairs offered to put distance between him and Charity, but today he had a choice. He crossed to the swing.
“Shall we?”
Despite the small smile that graced Charity’s lips, unease creased her brow. A momentary question stung him. Was her angst due to the word around town of the lynching, or did the prospect of sitting close to him cause her discomfort?
She gathered her shawl around her and settled onto the swing. He lowered himself beside her, turning slightly to face her.
“I’m sure you’ve heard what happened.” Distress laced her voice. “The whole town is talking about it.”
Dale nodded. “Yes. That’s why I wanted to talk with you.”
She interlaced her fingers and clung to the corners of her shawl until her knuckles were white. A visible shiver coursed through her, but Dale suspected she wasn’t chilled.
“How can anyone do such a horrible thing, Dale?”
Painful memories lanced him. “Thousands of horrible things were committed in the name of war for over four years.”
She clutched his arm. “But the war is over. Like the preacher said this morning, that man didn’t mean anyone any harm.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand the mentality of a person who could do something like that. One of the things I’m trying to clarify for my articles is the attitudes and opinions of people, and how they affect the Reconstruction.”
Dale frowned. “I’d hoped you would write with a more positive slant. Not everyone in the South is as ignorant as the ones who hung that man.”
She shot back a retort. “I know that.” She released a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. This is obviously not your fault, but it’s stirred some very powerful feelings in a lot of people.”
Brides of Georgia Page 40
